bloodbank
by hectorpriamides
Summary: i. bloodbank: horus becomes a little mortal in his quest for carter's immortality. 2. platelets: sadie is pregnant; it brings something new to everyone
1. bloodbank

**i.**

Death comes for everyone. Horus remembers this while waiting at a restaurant for Ruby. It is with a slightly older Carter, slightly drunker Carter, tucked against his side where he belongs.

Carter against his ribs, the sweet smell of wine and spices, and the firm hand on his thigh, says, "Mom and Sadie should be here in twenty minutes." And Horus hums in acknowledgement. He mutters stories and jokes in his hair in his mother tongue.

Everything is fine. There is Carter with his laughs and the top button of his shirt undone. Fleeting thoughts that, really, Carter's never been a drinker. It has always tired him. And there is Carter's low warm breaths on his clavicle. He knows the prince will fall asleep like this, if he is not careful there will be no dinner with family.

There is Horus in his coat and sweater. He doesn't care for, never has and never will, the autumn. A corner table where the server doesn't bother them too often (he shouldn't have glared at the poor girl — maybe). He nudges him up to make sure he's not purely asleep.

Eight years of courting Carter Kane, and it took seven of those to get Carter Kane comfortable with public affection. He murmurs "I love you," as he sits up, and the prince laughs at his blush. His hand wanders from his thigh to grab a piece of bread, asking, "Are you eating tonight?"

He is about to say _No, I'm not hungry_. Yet there is the prince's smile — one that could easily drop into a frown if he doesn't get the answer he wants. Horus shrugs. "Probably a little."

But the chance doesn't come. They're ushered out, the whole restaurant, and he has the feeling in his stomach that there's a new pinch in the Duat. His sensitivity to the Duat isn't as high as others but now, right in it, he can feel it no issue.

(it smells like dog. a twinge of possession.)

"Heru, don't." Carter shoving his wallet back in his pocket, Carter grabbing his wrist, Carter holding his hand. "Guess we'll get dinner elsewhere." He's awfully calm around death.

Horus squeezes his hand. The kid leads him through the throng, and he's sort of focusing on his pulse. He's outlived so many heartbeats before this, and he's going to have to say goodbye to this one eventually, a thousand times over. His mouth dries. He's going to be there when he dies, chances are. When does he leave the prince?

Blood pools in his mouth. He dislodges his teeth from his cheek. Carter's on the phone with his mother, Horus fusses over him. Gives him his coat, redoes the button on his shirt, smooths his hair back. He tucks himself deeper where he's always been, latches onto the part of him that never left Carter. And the prince laughs, glancing up at him.

They don't talk much in the car, Carter's hand on his thigh. He focuses on his warm hand and gods, he won't always be there. He knows it's paranoia, Carter's _his_ for as long as his magician life span allows it. (the god king needs the magician king to die in the most mundane way possible. old age, pneumonia, anything that does not require the king in immediate danger.)

Horus has thought about the eternal consort concept multiple times. It's inciting.

The prince leads him by hand into the apartment. He's pleasantly warm. Fall is only a few weeks more till Horus is less likely to share his coat. He'll share his warmth of course, anything to get his hands on Carter frequently. (the fact that the prince handles the cold better than him has _no_ factor in it what _so_ ever.)

Carter grins at him. "Did you actually plan on eating? Or snacking off of me?"

He watches him rifle in his pockets for the key. The kid's getting taller. " _Pick_ , yes." A barrier was put up around the apartment, pushing against him. He can enter without problems, yet first and foremost he's registered as _god god god_ , pushed feebly against the chest. "You don't have to feed me, child."

Still, Horus sits on the counter and watches him with a cocked head. He has done this before, but younger, with Mother and Neph, head not bumping anything, the women's gentle laughs and something likely smeared on his nose. (not all times where bad.) He will stay in the sweater, he stays out of his memories, and stays with his hands on the puzzle he's not really paying attention to.

His wife gifts wine, and his cup sits besides him. He curls his fist around the puzzle. Carter's had enough wine. His prince bites his lip, glancing at him.

Horus smiles at him weakly. There is something to this; this part of him with Carter. To be so deceptively mortal in a way he would never have thought. Without his armor, without his weapons, held in his prince's apartment. He has a home, something worth remembering that he'll still likely forget.

He rubs his cheek. He hates it when Carter keeps stuff from him, so he shouldn't do the same thing. ( _That's only when you_ know _he's hiding something_ , he reminds himself.)

"Little Prince?" His breath catches in his throat and he hates Carter for it. He makes him too weak. The kid hums, head cocked at him, and Horus fumbles it out:

"You're going to die."

"Do you know something I don't?"

Horus runs his finger on the rim of the cup. "Not soon, no, definitely not." Damn voice crack. "But—but one day. Not, not that I'm worried about that. My Prince, I am going to outlive you by many, and the thought is upsetting." He rubs at his silver eye with his palm. "I'm acting like a child, forgive me."

He sets aside the puzzle he _accidentally_ broke. His wife knows what he likes, too sweet of wine with the biting after taste. It is awfully light this batch, he only notices in a pitiful attempt to avoid eye contact with Carter. If he were a lesser man, he would worry that Carter would laugh at him for this little spurt of weakness and think him lower.

"You are." He doesn't have time to snap a response, words dying in his throat with the prince's awkward hug, stretched precariously. It's for the best, lets their relation filter through: god and godling, king and king, protector and protected; _friends_. "But that's alright, Heru, you _are_ a child."

He slides closer to the edge. "That's not–That is not a proper way to talk to your king." Regardless, he drops down, nuzzling his hair. He isn't fit to talk about kingship in this current state.

Carter laughs. He pulls back, one hand fisted in his shirt and the other wiping at his eye. "I'm not leaving you any time soon. Hey, are you cry–"

"Shut up." Men don't cry, children cry. He hasn't cried in centuries, _millennium_ , and he doesn't want to start now.

He's pressed back into the counter. He _tsks_ and shakes his head. "Birdie, Birdie. I never thought you'd be shaken up by death. Ah, I have a few honey candies somewhere. Want some?" His breath is vaguely fruity.

He grumbles. "I can't, and don't, get upset about every mortal that dies. Gods, that much empathy would have killed a person by now. I don't think about it often, when I do I don't really care, but you're not some stupid mortal. You're, you are _mine_ , my boyf–godling."

His hands are guided to Carter's waist. "Yours." The prince pats his cheeks. "Mine."

Horus copies him. « _ **Prince**_ ,» Kemetic always sounds nicer, "I think your dinner is burning."

Carter pulls away and curses, loudly. He turns it off and in mock anger, "Look what you made me do!" They share a laugh, the god kissing his head. The height difference is nice, the kid stretching to reach and retaliate.

"I'll go get you something. Hath's been in the mood to spoil something." Him, currently, in preparation for Ihy. Carter will make a good substitute until things become formal.

He laughs, another kiss, to the lips this time, that lasts longer than it should.

 **ii.**

"Hey, kid." Carter does the thing he always does, making his breath catch and heart stop. The prince had curled up on the couch. He brushes his hair out of his face. "Long day?" he asks, Carter slowly rousing and wrapped against his side.

He's a bit rumpled. " _Heru_ ," he coos, "I think I'm having an existential crisis. Stay with me."

Horus cocks his head. "Course." He continues stroking his hair. Really, he's suppose to take him to bed. But now, with the kid quickly drifting back to sleep, he's tempted to leave him there.

"Ruby, dearest, can't he stay? He's absolutely out." The soupçon of heavy liquor she claims to have given him certainly doesn't help matters. Granted, Carter was on the edge of a panic from the event. Horus has been meaning to for years to teach him what he knows. Being _slightly_ more gifted than him in social codes from years of court, gods, foreigners, and his own hosts means something, and it would be a bastard move to not help Carter out.

She appears from the corner leading into the kitchen. "Horus, _dearest_ , Julius got off on the wrong foot with Carter—tonight. _If_ he comes home and sees him asleep on the couch, still in his nice clothes and alcohol on his breath, Julius will have a snit. Granted, I gave Sadie some too, but it's not like he's ever paid her any mind." Ruby looks old, too old tonight. She collapses into a chair, hair tossed in a mess of a bun, glass in hand.

He glances at the sleeping prince. He's known things are tense. Yet that – it would be foolish for him to find out about what happened tonight. Julius may have his snits, but he'll end up with something broken along the way. Ruby scoffing brings him out of his mind. "Did Mother give you the idea to give the children alcohol?" he asks.

She laughs. "Perhaps. Please, king, take him to bed. I'd rather our darling boy be a bit upset about being carried then him butt heads with Julius. I'll be back in a minute." And like that, she's gone, the edge of her dress fluttering around her ankles.

Horus sighs. He scratches softly behind Carter's ear. "Up, princeling," he begins quietly.

Carter glares at him with as much malice as a wet kitten. He smoothes his hair down. "What time is it?" His voice is heavy with sleep.

"A little after two. You're _adorable_ when you try to be menacing." He pulls Carter up, the kid slipping on his lap, arms tight around his neck. "Ruby's still up, dearest," he reminds him, brushing his lips over his forehead.

"Not cute," he mutters. He doesn't notice Horus's arm slipping under his knees. "Slayer of the Chaos Lord, restorer of the Throne, holder of the Crook and Flail, Pharaoh of the Nome, whatever I did to the Red Pyramid..."

" _Won my heart_. All while being the cutest little thing," he says, pinching his cheek.

Carter slaps his hand away. "I was gross and sweaty. Close to dying. And you find that _cute_?"

Horus chuckles. "I found _you_ cute. Besides, it's not like I would have let you die. Then that means all you were was gross." He kisses him again. He stands, holding Carter tighter and ignoring the kid's shriek ( _Put me down_! _Horus,_ _Horus_!).

Ruby reappears, a bundle of clothes in her hand. "Don't wake your sister up." She hands the prince the clothes. "Before you get mad at Horus, I asked him to carry you. Be grateful you got yourself such a good man."

" _Moooooom_ ," Carter whines, hiding his flushed face against his chest. "Don't stroke his ego."

She laughs. "Goodnight, dears. And Carter, we'll talk in the morning, assuming Julius doesn't come–stays at his office." She slips back into the kitchen, the gentle sound of her computer starting up.

Horus carries him to the base of the stairs. "Carter, does your mother _ever_ sleep?" he asks, dropping the prince down.

Carter grabs his hand, pulling him up the stairs. "Honestly? I don't know."

"Kid," he begins. It's been a few years since he's seen this room. The same bedspread, soft carpet, a blemish in the wall from an _accident_ with a javelin. The prince's dresser still comes up to his neck. "What is an existential crisis?"

He cocks his head. "Where'd you hear that?" He beckons him further into the room. He doesn't sit down, fumbling at his buttons. Any of his superb sober coordination is lost.

"You brought it up." He starts to help him. Carter shies away from his hands, face flushing. He's confused. Hasn't the prince become accustomed to his helping hand? The fruit (peaches?) on Carter's breath reminds him. "No, no, child, you're intoxicated. I wouldn't try anything."

Carter's flummoxed expression grows; Horus ruffles his hair. "I don't remember that. It's means, to like–ponder your position in the universe and if you're doing everything right." ( _he hears the faintest, 'that's the best way to explain it to him, yeah_.')

His lips quirk. "Why would you do that? You've done a beautiful job at balancing college and the House."

The prince slips away, folding his shirt over the back of his old desk chair. " _Personal_ issues," he replies curtly.

"Carter."

"Gods can't get involved with mortal affairs."

"As a whole. On an individual basis, between god and host — former Eye, may I remind — the rules bend."

"Can't we discuss this in the morning?" he asks.

Horus rolls his eyes. "You know once my interest is piqued I don't relent," he answers. The silence grows, a glass one, not terribly tense, just delicate and easy to crack. Carter's disheveled look furthers with an old track shirt (an egregious choice of colors) that hugs his more filled out form since high school.

"I just." He sits after stumbling over his pants. "I'm almost done with my Masters, well on _my_ way to a doctorate, but I..." He frowns. "I'm not going to fit in these," he murmurs, glancing at the shorts in hand. More of his old track wear which had fit scandalously enough some five years ago.

"We should take them home." ( _his legs were delectable, hidden enough from view to excite horus to no end. it was the first time he wanted to_ _ **ravish**_ _him, smooth as silk thighs parted for him_ ( _and only for him_ )).

"Perverted old man." The shorts end up with his pants, discarded on the desk. The kid spins around on the chair. "The whole night I was 'Dr. Kane's son', 'Julius's boy', 'the _**rehashed**_ continuation of Julius'. Not 'Carter' or even just 'Kane'. Julius this, Julius that." Now is probably the wrong time to ask what rehashed means.

Carter starts up, "I followed the path Dad wanted me to take, mimicking him, made him happy. I've been content with it but after tonight...it's really too late to change my major. I don't want to be 'Dr. Kane's son' for the rest of my life. _Carter_ Kane. Changing my major course is extreme, but if it's the only way..." He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "At least there's the Nomes. Dad still over talks me though. Supposedly pharaoh and he still—"

« ** _There is nothing_** supposed _**about your title**_.»

Horus bites his cheek. _Be polite,_ he reminds himself. Carter was born in a time when no pharaoh was meant to take the Throne, now or ever. Nomes would be self sufficient and the Kane-Faust bloodlines would continue on their own. He wasn't born to become their king. He was born, and Apophis was reborn. The children of the Demon Days were never intended to be released. Carter would never have been king, Sadie wouldn't have been his advisor, and they could live the lives they attempt to juggle with the House.

Carter did not grow up waiting for a throne and crown. He did not grow up hidden in marshes and wistfully, bitterly waiting with his Mother whispering about their vendetta. He did not (does not) develop callouses before he has to wear clothes. He grew up comfortably situated in his Father's shadow, content to watch everything pass by. Horus cannot picture being in his _own_ shadow, let alone his parents. He's always been a separate entity; Carter hasn't.

Carter was born with the blood of kings during a time when kings do not exist. No tutelage during his young years to prepare him, no time spent as a real prince. If Horus hadn't grown up under his Mothers' guidance — queens and priestesses — preordained for the throne, perhaps he would have reacted similarly.

( _the god king needs the magician king to understand his true position in the world_.)

Horus kneels in front of his chair. _Stop submitting_ , he says. _It isn't submitting if you're equals_. He chucks him to get his attention. He doesn't linger. "I call you 'kid' for part affectionate appellation and the other part because its true. You aren't your Father, the very idea confuses me. Different _bas_ , different _kas_ , different _shuets_ ," bring up the forbidden magic again, sure, "different gods.

"I'm not particularly knowledgable about modern affairs or colleges as you can imagine. I can help you in these regards at least – I am the protector of the monarch. And certainly I will ask your father to step back, as _Sadie_ is your vizier. Why are you giggling?" He's here, being a good friend, exposing himself more and more, for the kid to laugh at him.

From his perch, Carter's breathtaking. "Mom was right. I got myself a great guy." Any of his clarity from minutes passed is replaced with the alcohol influenced Carter. "You look hot on your knees."

"It's quite cold here, actually. I'm glad I'm amusing you," he says drily. "This carpet does _wonders_ on–" The kid tackles him down and he instinctively wraps his arms around him. Sighing, he stretches his legs out. Did his knee pop? It sounded like it did. _Perverted old man_ may be right.

He nestles into his shoulder. "Can handle myself," he mutters. "Get me sweet bread tomorrow?"

Horus chuckles. "I'll think about it." A sharp elbow meets his stomach. "You're a brat," he says in his hair, attempting to put malice in his voice. It's all in good nature, Carter whining on his chest.

"Since when do you stay no?"

"I should start. I've ruined you with gifts and attention." ( _in the morning, he easily slips away from carter, giving his_ good mornings _and_ how are you _to ruby_. _hathor snorts affectionately, sending him on his way with a plate and kiss to the cheek_. _ruby rolls her eyes when she invites him in._ )

 **iii.**

"I think I'm sick."

"Gods can get sick?"

Horus settles contently in his sweatshirt, glaring at him over the island. "'Parently. Uh, thanks," he says hoarsely. He wraps his stiff fingers around the mug. Carter's cool hand lays on his forehead, head cocked, an adorable mannerism he's picked up.

He clicks his tongue. "You're burning up. Drink your tea, dear." He hesitates, watching the surface of the light brown liquid. It looks normal enough; his stuffed nose detects that it's not pure tea with thyme and poppy. Medicated. Not the natural ways with women's magic. It's smart of the kid, seeing he won't take modern medicine otherwise.

Reaching for the jar of honey in the middle of the island, he notes with displeasure how his joints ache. Honey is precious even today, unnatural bright yellow. "Is there milk? I'm _freezing_ ," he corrects.

Carter frowns. "Yes, yes, of course." He sits on the edge of his knee. Horus keeps mum about the slight strain. "It doesn't change when you leave?" His voice is soft and sweet, devoid of any teasing, yet still painful to his sensitive ears.

Shaking his head, "Perhaps you shouldn't sit so close, princeling, I would hate to get you sick." Horus has only seen him struck sick twice, both times him miserable and held up in bed.

"Don't worry. Why don't you bring this up to Isis?"

"She doesn't need to worry about me on top of Hathor. I'm a god, I'll be fine."

Carter pinches his cheek. "I know you're a god. But you're also my boyfriend. Imagine how your mothers would react if they _somehow_ find out your sick."

"You wouldn't." The prince grins cheekily. "Of course you would," Horus mutters. "I'll go tomorrow."

The kid's head drops on his shoulder. "Good boy. I'm only insisting since your symptoms don't go away when you change forms. How are you feeling today?" Horus lists them — sore joints, coarse throat, sensitivity, startling headache, lost ability of _spectacular_ senses — all the while pulling Carter further on his lap. He wouldn't push him off no matter how uncomfortable it is. He secures an arm around his waist. "Or, Horus, you could be getting old."

Horus will admit the tea isn't bad. It leaves an awkward aftertaste. Green tea is not a favorite. "Sure, dear."

Come morning, he wishes he hadn't wrapped himself around Carter. The blankets are a mess, tangled up around the both of them. The kid's short laugh comes to him, and his care in the form of his hand brushing over his forehead. "I've never seen you sleep in this late." The fashion is light and jovial, "Still cold?"

He grumbles, turning the best he can away. A sun god being sensitive to light. Hilarious. "Time?"

"Almost two."

He huffs, sitting up gingerly. Inadvertently he pulls Carter up from being tangled. "I didn't keep you all day, did I?" He takes the chance to prop his chin on the crown of his head. No kissing while he's sick.

Carter laughs. His laugh is unconditionally warm. Compared to the god, he's a compact heater, a burrow of mortal heat and energy. A sturdy temptation, glaring to the unnaturally cold king. "No. Went out with Sadie to some Nomes, did some grocery shopping, and worked on my paper. I tried waking you when I got home, but you snagged me and threw me down."

Horus chuckles. "Sounds right. How is the little Kane?" He doesn't listen. He preens himself, wrist rubbing behind his ear. He _needs_ a bath, but he _wants_ to enjoy his time with Carter. (he always does.)

"And we're meeting your mother around six, before or after dinner." Horus stops.

"I swear, Carter Kane, I'm going to–"

"Fall deeper in love with me, I know." He simpers, snaking his arm around his waist. "It's probably just the flu, but I wouldn't want you _too_ sick."

He tries to be mad. He tries to let his infamous temper spike. Yet as Carter nuzzles his throat and sighs quietly, he can't. "I...Fine. I'm going to shower." He doesn't mean to clip his words so much and regrets the prince flinching from him. "I'm not upset with you, Carter," he says softly, rubbing the back of his head and stopping himself from adoringly kissing his forehead.

He shrinks down. "I only did it because I care."

The god rolls his eyes. "I know. It's cute. Hm." His lips quirk into a smile when Carter stirs with a curious hum. "Hathor does the same. It is a good thing you two get along, else she might grow jealous at how well you do it."

He's painfully quiet. Least he sighs contently when Horus combs through his hair. "I'll be back."

Horus steps out of the shower some half an hour later thoroughly ruffled. He dries behind his ear, racking his mind for where exactly Carter keeps clothes for him and sorting through the various things he's heard the past few days. Hathor remains fine, Hapi acting up in response to Ihy being reborn before his brothers, something about a bottom drawer, the dog complaining about his dear aunt and bastard uncle. A rescheduled dinner, a comment about dry cleaning.

"Oh," and it clicks, everything runs in one, and he can smell something from the kitchen. It's the blasted tea. The itch in his throat becomes noticeable as he remembers.

Why did he let Carter buy him clothes again? Because Ruby and Carter had insisted? Well, yes, as the kid pouted and complained about needing to do something for him, since 'paying for my college and apartment _in full is too much_ '. Right, because Carter's anger at the landlord telling him that he couldn't accept his payment was adorable to the nth degree. As much malice a wet kitten. He's plenty scary to mortals, but to Horus – who is almost certain his presence is what gave him his sparks of temper – he's more akin to a child missing nap time.

One day he will stop thinking of Carter as a child.

"Prince," and he pokes around the corner, "perhaps I should wait this out in the _Duat_. I would hate to disturb her." The prince pouts. "Don't." He should devote more time to his wife. Multiple places doesn't matter when all of his attention is on Carter.

Said prince steps into the bedroom, crosses over to him. Despite Horus's shirtless state, and the blush that creeps over his neck, Carter hugs him, something soft and vulnerable. Bare cheek on damp chest, nothing innately sexual about, no fleeting kisses of Carter trying to get what he wants. "Stay tonight, at least?"

His heart cracks open. "Yes."

( _the god king needs the magician king to know that anything he asks happens._ )

The mush he tries to not think about, how much he loves the prince and how the next few centuries are easier to picture with him, starts to surface. "I'll go cancel on Isis," Carter says. "Why are you staring at me?" he asks, glancing away.

Horus chuckles. "You are just very...beautiful."

"And you're shirtless," he mutters.

"Yes, I am."

Carter runs a hand through his hair, leaning off of his chest. "You've gotten skinny," he notes. "I never really noticed before."

He smiles. "Sorry, kid."

"I mean, you're still hot. I just think you look better without all the extra muscle."

"Oh, really dear?" The sweet prince continues to be an outlier. Another pop in his wrist, and as the steam from the shower dissipates, his head fogs back up. How is Carter such an outlier? Beautiful beautiful prince who bends and folds into him, into the old crevices of his still beating heart. Those centuries seem easier with him by his side, situated calmly in his heart.

( _morning light, carter cupping his face before they go their ways, kissing him over and over again_ , 'goodbye goodbye goodbye'. _his laughs_ , 'you act as if i won't be returning.'

 _and carter nipping his nose,_ 'we can never be too safe.')

 **iv.**

Horus is impressed with Carter, and the fact it takes him eight days to crack and see him. It has to be immediately after he's done with class, his right hand clenching the strap of his bag, left gripping the back of his neck. "Birdbrain."

"Little prince."

He's in a mood, dragging Horus down to his level instead of elevating himself. "Do you want kids?"

"Gods, Carter, I don't care about paying for your college but if you need the talk at your age–" Carter huffs, kissing his mouth. "I'm not a _parent_ , dear. My boys are my blood and that's about it."

He nips his lip. "I'm not a parent either. We discussed it in class, about how educators either adore kids or want nothing to do with them and it got me thinking." They're breathing the same air, and Horus realizes how much he _actually_ missed this brat. He's even tolerating the kink in his neck and knot in his lower back just so Carter can kiss him easier. Shouldn't the kid have another growth period? He doesn't know. "I'm not completely opposed to having them with you, not that I'm rushing to have them, and I've pretty much settled to spending the rest of my life with you, and there's ways we _could_ ," and he listens half heartily to Carter's talking, rubbing his cheek with his thumb. He can say confidently Carter is his smartest host by far, and it has minimally to do with how rapt his attention is to the kid.

"...and you're not paying attention, are you?" Horus grins. "Whatever. How're you feeling? Are you well enough to come home? You've eight days of your cooking show to watch." He loosens the grip he has on his neck, kissing his smile.

Horus huffs. "I have _no_ idea what you're talking about. Yes, I'll come back."

Carter kisses him again. "Good. The bed was getting lonely."

Back home, Horus idly flips through back logged magazines. Carter orders dinner, phone cradled between head and shoulder. Both are poor at cooking. He had called it a night on what he wrote. Horus doesn't quite understand modern schools. "Hey," he says very quietly.

"Yes?" he answers. Carter takes the liberty of wrapping his arm around his neck, Horus easily accepts him, setting aside the magazine in favor of Carter. The kid finishes up on the phone ('Yes, that's all').

He digs around in his pocket. "We've never spent that much time apart, have we?" he asks.

"No, not since we moved in here," he replies. Carter goes to school, Horus dicks around, his host comes home every day by four. If he's out later he gets Horus, and Horus once in a while drags Carter to some god thing.

The kid grins. "We need new sheets." Horus tolerates the metal backing of the chair digging into his back with Carter trying to fit both of them on the island stool. "Let's not do it again. I missed you."

Horus rolls his eyes, dropping his hand to his hip. "I know you missed me. I did too. May I meet you after you're done?" he asks. He hates these mundane things, but it's _Carter_ , and he hasn't seen him. They're both clingy in their own ways, and for a day or two he can be clingy Carter's way. He would rather drag him to bed or training halls, pin him with either startling gentleness _or_ a playfulness that makes Carter always, _always_ press his face against his neck with a laugh.

His wonderful smile. "Yeah. Want to have some fun?"

The god chuckles. "The thirty minutes it takes the food to get here is not enough time." The prince rolls his eyes, pushing himself up on his knees, teetering back. It happens before he realizes, Carter throwing them back and onto the floor. He keeps his swear under his tongue. "By gods, Carter. If you wanted to roll around you could've just said that. You're going to get another concussion one of these days."

He kisses his head. They don't wrestle often, his fear of hurting injury-prone Carter, and the last time they did, a night in Brooklyn, he pulled a shoulder muscle. Much to Carter's embarrassment, hiding out against _his_ shoulder until the healer girl came.

"No I won't." Carter leans into his affections. "Just use these thirty minutes to do as you please." That's definitely a wink, pressing their hips together. "I missed you, silly bird."

"I missed you, too," he mutters. "Jut stop almost hurting yourself."

Carter smiles. "Okay. I will."

( _the god king needs the magician king to understand how much his heart breaks when they're apart, that they're made for one another_.)

A rapt knock at their door. Carter disengages, pressing a final kiss to Horus's lips, fixing his clothes and hair. Not that his blush goes away, flushed face and the imprint of carpet on his cheek. He watches as Carter goes to the door, on his bare back on the floor. Carter makes polite small talk, laughing awkwardly with the delivery boy.

 **v.**

Horus is a sentimental, old fool. Carter and him are returning a week later than everyone else from vacation, as night creeps into dawn and Ra rises, suitcase in hand as Carter jiggles the key in the lock of his parent's house. Europe was nice. Different than America, certainly.

(" _Is going to Europe in your best interests?" Julius asks after the women see them off. Two days after the Kane family returned from Egypt, Carter's off again with Horus in tow, in hand. They heard this yesterday._

 _Carter, shoulders hunched, replies a bit snappily, "Maybe not. But he wants to go. Like it or not, Dad, he's part of my life. He's...practically my husband_.")

 _My husband_ rattled around his skull most of the trip. Carter claimed him. He's pleased by the simplest of things involving his prince. Half of the trip was spent curled in a bed with Carter, lips pressed to the crook of his neck, sighing softly with Carter attempting to work. The time not spent in bed is spent sight seeing.

Back in America (' _the states_ '), jet lagged Carter decides to spend the night at his parents, too tired to drive and too stubborn to let Horus take him home. The midsummer air is humid and cool, crickets singing. They'll be here all morning at this rate. He reaches around the kid, laying a hand on his jittery one.

Carter smiles at him over his shoulder. The door cracks open to a dark living room, and Horus asks, "You told your parents we were stopping?" The kid tries to take his suitcases back.

"I told Sadie." Carter didn't talk much on the flight. Gingerly tucked his feet on the seat, quite roughly tucked himself under his shoulder (' _You're a god, that couldn't have hurt'_ ), and slept until the layover. Even Horus was a bit unsettled by the time changes, morning when they left and morning when they arrived. "Mom won't mind, and we'll be leaving after Dad does, so–" It's nice to hear his voice again.

Carter detours at the foot of the stairs, towards the kitchen. Horus cocks his head, and he's shooed up the stairs, "I'll be up. I'm getting a snack." He does, a bit unwillingly, sheer memory to get to his room. The room is tidy, sheets warm to the touch. ( _those shorts are_ somewhere.)

Horus flitters around, playing with various things left on the bookshelf Carter didn't take with him, settling for bed, anything to look productive. Not that he is. His time with Carter often amounts to falling asleep on him or distracting him. (this century is such a drag.)

Carter, all five foot eight of him, is back, and he asks, "Goldfish? Really?"

"Shut up," he mutters. The bed here is much smaller than theirs, sitting hip to hip. "I _like_ them. Remind me to buy some. Are you going to take your shoes off?"

"Eventually." He had forgotten, wrapped up with him and Carter and how boring these years could have been without his wonderful host. It is, of course, thanks to the prince he has returned; the Kanes are to thank, to hate. Three thousand years of nothing but family eventually, finally, took its toll on him. The glare of an actual sun, true warmth not produced by a _Duat_ incubator.

Carter kicks his foot. "Mhm," he says, handing him the fish and starting to take his shirt off.

Horus rolls his eyes. "Or _I_ take us home."

"Nope." Frustrating prince, and he has half a mind to just take him home.

But they're here, in the room of Carter's youth and his aging, and everything is quiet and fine. Carter has his youth as well. The planes of his chest are wrapped in lithe muscle, light scars from _whatever_ , hips slim and easy to love. Perhaps he is shallow, mind always wandering to the prince's body, how he's rebuilt himself for combat, how despite the fact they are the same size he fits perfectly along him. The sculpt of his hip in the cup of his hand, how steady his out stretched arm has become with his _khopesh_.

He continues to wander back to his talk with Hathor and the present. If he could convince the dog, be civil for a day, to make the little Kane his immortal consort, he could have Carter. How hard could it be? Surely the dog's wife wouldn't mind.

"Carter," he doesn't use his name often, and he stalls what he's doing. "Come here." His head cocks, but he doesn't protest, letting the god pull him onto his lap. He's yet to put his shirt back on, and it's quite nice.

"Hi, Horus." And it's quiet, soft, not as foreign as it use to be. His hand flat on his cheek. "Did you need something?"

He leans into the touch. "Only you."

A laugh. "Sap."

"Only for you. Little prince, may I make an offer?" He kisses him, and by him he means them and by them he means what they are.

Carter hums, kissing back, the hand on his cheek tapping the arch of the bone. "Yes?" he breathes. He slides his hand up his back.

Horus smiles. "Why, Carter Kane, will you give me the honor of being my immortal consort, for however long I live?" Carter's heart beats beneath his back. Mortal heart beats, beats that end, and he wants more than anything to tie the beats to his, strong and unending for a few thousand years.

The god drags Carter closer. "You," kissing the top of his forehead, "do not have to answer tonight, obviously. You may take all the time you have."

"...how would it work?" he asks. "I'll give you an answer by morning, how about that?"

Horus frowns. " _Do_ think it over. But, well." Picks his words carefully, lines them up. "You would still be your own person, but your soul would be...fused to mine? Since I've the immortal soul and all. Basically, long as I live, you do? Something to that degree. You're stuck with me forever, but you can do your own thing." He runs over the checklist. That's all? "Oh, and you don't need a host. Your ' _title'_ would be _my_ permanent host."

The kid grins. "With you? Forever?" He laughs.

"...yes? That's why I wish for you to think it over."

"Can I admit something?"

"Of course."

Carter leans back, staring Horus in the eyes. "I've already thought about it. I'm fairly open to the idea."

( _the god king needs his magician king to understand that he's thought about it too, so many times, wonderful host to fill the vacated spot in his heart from imprisonment_.)

He tucks his head against Carter's shoulder. The blush climbs up his neck, sweet prince in love with him. That's what that means, doesn't it? He's in love with Carter, so it must be true, if Carter thinks the same. The prince's hand on the back of his neck, rubbing the skin.

His prince also pries at his shirt, asking quietly, "You gonna get ready for bed...? Or am I sleeping alone?"

"Don't be stupid," he jokes. "Just let me snuggle up."

( _morning comes, carter's long nuzzle into his neck. 'birdbrain, hey,' lights flicking on, 'i'm your immortal consort. can we call it that?'_

 _he hums, squeezing carter. 'we can call it whatever you fucking please.'_ )


	2. platelets

**AN:/ initially, i was going to post this as its own work, because it's the second part in a series. but then i remembered i don't get enough traffic on this site to really warrant doing that, so here it is. if you want the full series experience, you can always find me on ao3**

 **if you come to just say something because it's carter & horus, & you explicitly ignore tags, don't bother. **

i.

Sadie has the dog's seed _something_ like a few decades later. Mortal time is too flexible for his taste. Carter takes him when they pick Sadie up from a nome, silly girl coming in the early morning. She crawls in the back, kicking his reclined seat, as the sun climbs over the horizon.

The god ignores her, fiddling with the temperature controls while his Kane kids chat. Perfume and detergent makes the air sweet, gross domestic life too comfortable. Now that he has Carter, officially, he's less concern with actual mortal affairs. They won't matter once Carter's immortal. (his wonderful consort reaches over his lap, hazel eyes shimmering up at him, and horus gives in, adjusting the seat.)

Carter is better at figuring out when he's in a mood than he cares to admit. He listens to the Kanes prattle. They missed each other. How cute.  
"I want breakfast," she whines. Little Kane isn't a whiner, so he twists in his seat to look at her. She's glowing. Horus narrows his gaze. That's. Odd. Magic doesn't work like that. Her scent is different too, one he should know, scratching at his mind. He should know this, everything tells him. He's seen these signs before. He's gone soft with the times.

Carter humors her, glancing at her equally fond. "And where do you want to go?" he asks, equally soft. Horus does like the Baby Kane, so for once he can understand the tenderness.

She lounges across the seat, no seatbelt, no regard for any safety regulation Carter carefully drilled in his mind. "Anywhere. This Nome can't cook for shit. Something greasy. I'm craving it." Cravings. Glow. He should know this. His wife has gone through this. The drive is more bantering between the Kane children, spitting back and forth.

His mortal lets him play on his phone, despite having bought the god his own. _Something's you're difficult to contact. Maybe I want to hear your natural voice. Amuse me, Horus_. His phone is regulated to games, the coveted solitaire, and three contacts (mother, son, daughter Kane). Like his mind softens with peace, his attention wanes.

Carter finds a restaurant not too much later. It isn't busy for the early hour, only one other car in the lot. Sadie digs around for her wallet, and Carter steals a couple kisses across the console.

(the mortal king has grown so much over the years; the god king's heart swells.)

They're seated not ten minutes later. Sadie slouches in her seat, and Carter's tired mess of curls rests on his shoulder. The children have been on routine schedules recently, as normal as magician time can be. Only a week from home at any time, and demons have been on the decline.

Carter orders breakfast, he orders breakfast, and Sadie orders dinner, a greasy mess of meat and potatoes. "Hungry?" Horus asks.

Horus wants to still be in bed, wrapped around his little prince. Their bed was warm, sheets orange. Their bed didn't have Sadie Kane in it, love her he may. Carter brings his coffee cup to his lips. The boy is unfairly attractive, beautiful in no way a goddess has been. One day he will understand his attraction to Carter.

"A bit," she admits. She eats heartily, straw of her root beer loose between her lips. Horus hears her foot tapping beneath them.

Kissing Carter's temple, he offers him some of his breakfast, those fluffy pieces of flour, the...pancakes. He just ordered them. His recall should be better. "Are you alright?" Carter asks. The girl across from them tugs on her sleeve. Magic rolls unbridled from her.

The glow.

"You're going to be uncles," Sadie Kane says. He hears the distinct shatter of glass, looking at Carter beside him clutching the remains of his cup cradled in his hands, halfway to his face. Horus focuses on that instead of the news before him, taking care of Carter. He gently pries the broken pieces from his hands and off his lap, setting them on the table. Knowing that Carter is wearing an undershirt, he unbuttons it, the shell shocked prince letting him get away with it, wiping his chest and lap off. "I'm pregnant."

Horus wraps Carter in his jacket. "You're pregnant," he says, "you're–" he slaps Horus to let him out, who reluctantly agrees. He watches Carter hug his sister. Cute.

"How?" Horus asks.

Sadie clamps her hands over Carter's ears, drawing him into her shoulder, shit eating grin plastered on her face. "I know its been awhile, but when a man and woman have sex-" Carter whines; it goes straight through him. "-the woman has a chance of getting pregnant. I know your efforts with Carter have been fruitless-"

"That's enough, Little Kane." Grabbing Carter by the back of his pants, he pulls him back around the table and onto his knee. The boy cups his cheeks, looking between the two of them, an ecstatic _She's pregnant, birdie._ _I'm going to be an uncle!_

He feeds Carter a piece of egg to shut him up. Sadie rests her head on her hand. "I want you two to be his godparents, no pun intended. Who knows how Walt and I have," she says, in what Horus hopes is a jest.

Regretfully, Carter sits proper in the booth. "It's a boy?" he asks. Baby Kane having a baby. The world is going faster. Death comes for all mortals, which is one thing he managed to steal from Carter. But the boy is broiling now at the mention of a baby. "He'll be the godparent," Carter says with a jab at his ribs. "I'll be the uncle."

"Original, princeling." he says dryly. "Is that all?"

The rest of breakfast is quiet.

(when the mortal king—only temporary, he reminds himself—finally gets to go home, the god king is graced with probably the deepest kiss of their relationship; mortal king wraps his fist in his shirt, tugging him down and promptly, unexpectedly, kissing him. an uncle, he sighed. even the god king's face was flushed after the kiss, mortal king cast in the slowly rising sun, something new churning in him.)

ii.

"What do you think about this?" Carter asks, holding up an impossibly small shirt that match the rest in the basket Horus is holding.  
Horus shrugs. "Whatever you please, baby. I don't care." He's spending plenty of money on a kid he's not going to like, all because Carter twists his arm with the tried and tested, _You'll like him because he's a Kane. Name a Kane you don't like_.

(A fight during an hour Carter should be asleep. "I don't care if you want nothing to do with this. I'll buy my nephew stuff without you." Which isn't their agreement; Carter wants, he gets. Horus, keeping his temper down, fished his wallet out, flipping through the bills, the larger ones Carter isn't a particular fan of, green honestly disgusting money passed to his hands. Some exuberant amount, probably, not bothering with counting. Except the brat won't take it, a game of cat-and-mouse (falcon-and-mouse) around the kitchen.

"No. You want nothing to do with him. Keep your stupid money," he said, crossing his arms over his chest. Part of Horus wants to pin him down and remind him that good princelings don't fight their king, and the other part wants to commemorate him for standing up for himself. The former wins, cheating briefly and zipping over, trapping him against the cabinets.

His head hits the wood with a thud. Horus is concerned if only for a moment, before remembering he's technically mad at him. "Take the money. I'm your god-husband. I provide for you." His jeans are snug, Horus's hand doesn't go smoothly in, but the money rests flat on his thigh. "I may not like the child but if you do, that's enough.")

(carter went to bed on the couch, curled in an adorable ball, scrunched little nose. he fought vaguely when horus scooped him up, grumbling a 'hate you,' nuzzling his shoulder. "don't wanna sleep wi' you tonight," he said, "mad at you."

he sighed. "i know. i'll sleep on the couch, princeling." but carter wouldn't let him leave once they're in their room, wrapping his arms snugly around his neck. he pulled horus down halfway, god's face pressed into his neck, bent over, knee close to his hip. "want me to stay?" he asked.

"i'm mad at you–overpowering me like that. i can't, i can't live on your purse forever."

"but you can. i want you to.")

He pouts. "Would you be more interested if it was our kid?" He puts the small shirt in the basket anyway, tugging him along by the elbow. Adorable and young as ever in his sixties, magic and a god keeping him not a day over twenty-three. Horus could eat him up just about anywhere.

"We can't have children, baby." All the talk of babies between all their parents has Carter messed up. Never has Carter mentioned kids before Sadie got knocked up. "You know that, correct? Parts don't match up," like that horrible nightstand they bought the one time.

He glares at him. "Yes, I know that. I'm not stupid." Carter flicks through the rack of clothes. Why a baby needs clothes baffles Horus. It may be colder here, how aware he is of the cold, but babies are messy and are barely in their clothes. "Just hypothesize with me. You never said no to having a baby."

"And I never told you yes." Horus adjusts the basket to his other hand. It isn't heavy by any meaning of the word but the plastic is cheap and digs into his hands. Pants find their way in the basket, as if his princeling is trying to supply the baby (Allen?) the whole wardrobe.

Carter drifts over to the girls section, holding up a small (it's all small) yellow onesie, covering half his face. "Come on. Appease me. We could give your mother a granddaughter." The onesie finds its way into the basket too, only to be promptly removed by the god. "Horus." His face is exasperated, adorable brow furrowed.

He grabs Carter's shoulder, shaking his head. "Mother has a granddaughter. Anubis has children too. I'm not a father. You're not a father. Drop it." Horus still adores his wife – but not in the way a husband should love a wife. That's all transferred over to Carter. But speaking of children drudges up Hathor, his old life for a younger man. Carter's commented how unhealthy it is to disregard her emotionally, because you've been married for how long?, but whatever. He's moved on. Horus can barely envision a future for himself — times have changed too much, he too old and outdated – but the future, vague it may be, only features Carter, not Hathor.

His original forever had Hathor in it. But his original forever had Kemet in it too.

"But you are a father. You have children. Five of them. I have nothing." Horus pauses at the defeated tone. Not befitting of his little prince. Carter's shoulders slump. "Whatever. Won't even entertain me," he grumbles. He pries the basket out of Horus's fingers, refusing to meet his gaze.

Horus hates when he gets like this. Carter can get everything when he isn't acting this petulant, and Horus wants it to stop, and the best way to get it to stop is to give in. He follows Carter to the counter, glancing down at the top of his head while Carter makes polite small talk. So good at it, talking about nothing.

Horus, older, unfortunately, knows he isn't who his younger self was. Not constantly angry, not wrapped up in revenge, the cycle of rebirth broken, in a sense. No throne. No Kemet. Only Carter and a few Nomes. He doesn't even hunt anymore. Modern times are slow, and his mind has followed suit.  
Only Carter, and a few Nomes. What little he's had before, he's maintained. Except Egypt.

But Carter. He has to keep this one. He made this one immortal, physically, not just in memories. Abandoning Carter can't happen.

He's responsible for this. And what's another one to add on, in the form of a baby?

The air outside is brisk. Always brisk in this forsaken nation. "Look, Carter." He takes the bags from him, thank you very much. His responsibility for now. Forever. "I may have sons. You're right, of course you are. But I didn't raise them. Their mother and governesses did. I couldn't tell you Imsety's birthday, or Duamutef's full name. I'm disconnected from the whole thing." Still won't look at him. Horus sighs, and in the face of the poor weather, drops his arm around his shoulder, pulling him closer. "What's got you hooked on the baby-talk?"

Carter deflates even further. "I don't know. I'm not getting any younger," or older, "and I don't have anything to show for the past seven–seven years. And, well, it's you. We're together for how long now? Not having kids during this indefinite span doesn't feel right."

"We wouldn't have them though. You'd have them." Horus kisses his head. Carter, during the first decade, was shy about public affection. Now, he's stopped caring. "If we're having kids I want them to be ours, laws be damned. Your adorable little face with the eyes I give all my children." Ma'at churns inside of him.

He laughs a little. "Yeah?" Carter looks up, and well, Carter's eyes aren't bad either. But Horus' are the best, bestowed to all of his children. "So we're going to spend eternity together and never have children?"

"You can get a pet," Horus offers, "but no dogs or cats. A fish. How about a fish?" He pauses, "…Sadek might eat the fish. I'll get you something, dear." Carter rolls his eyes. The boy has enough responsibilities between the Nomes, Brooklyn, and their home life.

"A pet," he drawls. Carter steals the bags back. "Whatever. It's fine. I guess Anubis' son will take my throne." A smile creeps onto his face. Horus shakes his head disdainfully.

"That's cheap."

"But it's true."

Horus counters quickly, "At least it will still be Kane blood." Carter jostles his keys, looking away from him and into the parking lot. Did they have anything else to do today? Probably. His memory is going, albeit slowly. Time for a _Duat_ nap.

Carter grips his hand, pulling him into the lot. "Well, I wanted to surrogate, not adopt, so it would be Kane blood."

Horus hums, stopping beside the car. "Surrogate?" he echoes. "You will not lie with a woman, and certainly not enough times to sire a child with her." The old, familiar anger broils in his stomach. The mortal knows not what he says, this he knows. It it unintentional ignorance, that Horus must blame himself in part for.

The mortal (only temporary) turns to face him. "Your age shines through. I wouldn't lie with her. I'll show you a video later, but I wouldn't have to touch her at all. We'll pick a surrogate, one you like, and do a closed adoption," he says, words that make little sense to him when combined. Carter grips his hand again, squeezing tightly. Hope shines in those pretty eyes, just like they would on the face of a child. "Think about it, for me?" he asks.

He couldn't tell him no, not outright. "I will. Maybe we'll talk about it."

iii.

Horus eagerly waits the hands of his watch to hit Carter's lunch break: 10:44. Shopping with Mother isn't as fun when he can't focus. Not that he usually can. She leads him through the same baby departments Carter took him to last month, same guiding hand on the same elbow and the expectation of him paying.  
"I couldn't imagine having a baby today," Mother says, poking one of the swinging chairs. "You'd be even more spoiled than you were." Living in a basket in some marshes is not what Horus would consider spoiled. She's talking about when he was incredibly young, a prince in a palace with both living parents, brief and rare that may have been. "There's so much."

He shrugs. "We'll never have to deal with it." 10:38. Six more minutes. Half an hour lunch break to just listen to Carter talk. It truly is the little things in life.  
Mother hums, giving him a pointed look. "Never? Is Sadie the only one giving me grandchildren this century?"

"Carter and I cannot have children," he sighs. "Something caught the kid on baby fever. I don't get it."

He leans against the cart, glancing at Mother. Her lips are pursed. Horus knows her well enough to see the minuscule crack in her composure as she drinks in the sight of modern babies. "Should we get the babe a modern crib, or something with more protection?"

"The girl said modern furniture, but toys she doesn't care."

Her eyes twinkle with an old glee. "You and Anubis have always been obsessed with getting one over the other, and I think that extends to your Kanes. You've both put those two, or three, I should say, into a life of opulence, even if neither of you realize it."

Horus continually bristles at being compared to the mutt. But Mother did raise him. She holds a fondness. "I don't spoil him that badly."

"I don't believe they intentionally think like this, but now one Kane has something the other doesn't." She sighs. "I don't know what half of this equipment is. I'm out of touch."

He leans further down on the cart. "Carter's too young. But he wants one, badly. He's looked at new apartments."

Mother tuts; she's a slim woman, but she pulls out a crib box with ease, looking over the front. "He's not getting older, but he's also not getting younger. And I know you want children. Babysit Sadie's boy in a few months and see how that goes," she says distractedly. She quietly mulls over the details on the box, glancing up at him from where she crouches on the floor. "Do you think she'd accept an enchanted crib? Modern but with protections."

Horus shrugs. "I don't think she would protest. Let the mutt handle it." 10:42. He's always been open with Mother. There's little room to lie. "I want children with Carter, but any child he has won't be ours. It'd be his and some surrogate's," he stresses. "I want _our_ baby."

"With those damned eyes of yours," she echoes. "You will love anything from that boy, and you know it." Still from her spot on the floor, Mother continues. "Neph is not your mother, but she raised and loved you like one, correct?"

"…yes," he admits with a hair of reluctance. He doesn't like where this is going.

He steadies the cart as she loads the crib in, wiping off her hands. "And Anubis is not my blood, but he's certainly my son." Which is painfully true as well. "You should know, Horus, that blood isn't everything."

"But blood does matter," he enunciates for the queen-mother. "To risk so much to get Carter on the throne, only to disregard the legacy of Narmer-"

Isis is the only one (besides Carter) who can cut him off mid-sentence. "Have you listened to him at all? It will be his blood, and your child. This will continue to be a point of contention for you. Humor your prince. Babysit the pup, plan a hypothetical child, consider it. You know you'll give in." He glares at her, giving her the cart back. A minute until he gets to call him. "Here's what I think," Mother starts, a sly grin growing on her regal features, "you'll see him holding the pup, and all your worries will melt away."

Horus glares at her, though it's gentle. "Be good, don't pick up too much." He wanders to an unrelated part of the store. No babies, no little shirts, no Mother with her prying words.

He dials Carter's number by memory. It's an easy pattern. The phone rings three times, and then: Little Kane's voice getting further away, the telltale creak of Carter's chair, followed by the scrape of plastic against plastic. "Aren't you a punctual bird?" Carter says. "How are things with your mother?" he asks. What did Carter pack again? Leftovers, it's always leftovers, but he finds himself curious.

Horus lets his free hand drift over the display before him, weird machines meant for...breastfeeding. Mother would faint. She's a delicate woman. "They're alright. Mother is herself unsurprisingly. Overbearing, domineering, obnoxiously right."

He can tell the boy is smiling. "You have a type. The big bad Horus likes being pushed around," he chimes softly. Carter's lesser throne at the First Nome—he fears breaking the original, despite his instance that he cannot; it's enchanted—is uncomfortable. Stiff, medium quality wood with a high back (if only for tradition), placed behind a deeply colored desk.

"Kid," he begins, leading against the metal shelving. An edge digs into his ribs. "How much does surrogacy cost?" Carter chokes. He smiles. "You alright?"

"I should send you out with Isis more often." He may spend his days with Mother, but never so mortal. "It's comparable to the house you bought me," he says.

He's bought the boy a few houses, even if they always default to hotels on Carter's travels. He likes the baths, he likes the beds. "Which one?" Horus asks. Carter placed a ceiling on what he could spend.

Carter shyly confesses, "The one in Vermont."

"That's not bad," he answers. "That's all inclusive?" Carter says yes, it is. It was barely a drop in his wealth.

"What would you name it? You'd both be Kanes." Carter is back to fantasy over reality. He doesn't take his breaks to talk mortal paperwork after slogging through magician ones.

Legally, on mortal paper, he is Horus Kane, nothing before, easily hand-waved away. "Meritites Kane for a girl." _Beloved of her father_. "Thaneni for a boy, but I doubt you'll have a boy. Ma'at speaks softly of a future queen, and given your prolonged reign-"

Carrying on tradition, Carter interrupts. "They're nice names." Caught off guard by the softness, the palpable wonder, his voice exudes, Horus forgets English for a moment. How to answer? How to speak? _They're nice names_. Why is he so soft? Carter is turning him to mush with every passing day. Even their bond is soft; both are definitely present, bond cemented firmly between the two, but tapping on it, it bends, it bounces, it swells with the same amount of love present in the kid's voice.

"As is yours," he forces out, Kemetic smooth on his lips, "any name would be attractive with Kane put on it, case in point. Herupakhred Kane sounds nice, shockingly." Now is not the time for Ma'at, for future heirs. Now, it is time for Meritites Kane, a small mortal baby reared by god and mortal king (plus a governess, undoubtedly, and her oddly sprawling family).

The minute it takes Carter to decipher his speech is enough for English to come back to mind. "Our pretty little daughter in yellow," Carter says back, Kemetic like sand on his tongue. They do not _need_ to talk. They communicate fluidly enough without words. There would be plenty of quiet exchanges across their bond to imagine their little daughter, for Horus to indulge the slowly aging Carter.

But he needs to be firm. He must be the grounded one to Carter's spiraling hope. Nipping that desire in the bud, a desire he himself possessed, was rude, yes. But his adoring mortal is a fantastical creature, rational yet floundering in fantasy. The mortal king, the magician king, without queen, without heir.

...there was a chance for Horus to be rational too. Carter needs an heir, but he needs Horus too. Horus comes back to the store, back to English, back to the melodic sound of Isis' voice carrying over the displays. "We'll speak later, princeling, in the comfort of home. Deal?"

"Sure," that soft, edible tone. "I love you, birdie," comes next. His voice is a bit firmer, but dripping with affection.

Horus hums, pushing a piece of dust through a hole on the shelf. "Did you eat?" He knew he didn't, more scraping of plastic through the line. "I'll let you go, princeling. I love you as well."

Mother wears her all knowing smile.

(god king and mortal king find themselves wrapped up in one another, in bed, as they always are. "i know you don't want to humor me. your part of the bond is wide open," mortal king says softly, secured under his arm from any insecurities that could plague him, but it seemed not all. horus sighs, kissing his temple: "i will humor you if it makes you happy; you know this." his fingers sweep across his chest, outlining each muscle. carter is a wonder upon this earth: "it will only hurt when we do not have her.")

iv.

"Thanks for coming, birdbrain."

"It's the least I can do, Baby Kane." It's his own boredom. Her hand sits neatly in his elbow, slow but very Sadie-like in her late term pregnancy. Willing, or perhaps accidentally, he keeps a mental countdown for her supposed due date, down to the second. Another week, three days, seven hours, two minutes and thirty-seven seconds. "What are you in for?"

She sits down heavily in her chair. Her boyfriends, husbands?, are busy today with Carter (some demon/artifact retrieval), and Mother…well, Mother doesn't like modern doctors. Horus has ample free time. "Ultrasound. Has Carter showed you the pictures?" Horus shakes his head no. The Baby Kane, for all intents and purposes, beams, digging her phone out.

A mother. The Baby Kane is a mother now. "I'm getting old," Horus blurts out as she scrolls through her device. "You're having a baby."  
"Just now tuning in?" Sadie Kane is well aware how often he checks out—multiple bodies gets confusing—but that's not what this is. The dawn of the realization.

"You're a mother," he says. "Baby Kane's having a baby."

Sadie pauses in her scroll. Her blue eyes look at him in more than just a glance. "I worry for you." It's soft. It's Mother like. Motherly. The glow is back, partly Isis' magic, partly pregnancy (oils, he recalls; the skin produces more oils, mother said, hathor said, stomachs round).

He smiles, despite the cold shock itching at these mortal veins. "You don't need to. Get the picture out, Baby Kane, before my interest wanes." Horus needs to keep better tabs on this body, certainly if Carter wants to have a baby. Raising mortal babes in the Duat only exposes them to more magic, that alters their growth.

She's well into her role, showing him blurry picture after blurry picture of a baby amongst gelatinous goo. It's the quality of 3D ultrasounds, she preens, look at his nose!

Sadie Kane, soon to no longer be the Baby Kane, carries on. The dumb question of ' _How did this happen?_ ' rattles around his brain. The girl had unprotected sex with one of her husbands. And while he knows gods cannot procreate with mortals, not their variety anyway, he broaches the question as the shining, exultant baby Kane takes pause for breath. "It is the mortal's, correct?"

Her rheumy eyes find his face again. The earlier fondness and concern is gone. "Yes, it is. Anubis he—he made sure of it. Us Kanes are odd creatures." Her head droops on his shoulder, breaths slow. Lilac streaks her caramel hair. "I worry for him," she admits. "All I ask for is his safety, Horus. Isis promised me she'd grant it."

They sit like that in silence until Saide is called back. He helps her up, steadying her as she walks, her hand braced on her own back. Sadie's usual wit begins to shine through as she banters with the nurse. The room is pre-emptively dark, a hulking mass of machinery in the corner followed by multiple screens. The female nurse—some things never change—politely looks away as Sadie, hefty as the ghastly machine, settles back in the plush chair. Her hand is loose in his.

The nurse—Ada, he comes to learn, has been Sadie's...technician throughout her whole pregnancy—rolls him in a stool to sit on. Sadie introduces him as her brother-in-law, shamelessly; he can see the gears turn in Ada's head as to where he fits in, but she says nothing verbally. There is no trace of magic, no hints of danger. A mortal hospital.

"Have you heard from my parents at all?" Sadie asks. Her eyes flirt between him and the screen. The nurse applies some gel to her round, stretch stomach. The girl's skin is taut, lighter than Carter but darker than Ada. The Kane parents breed well, two classically beautiful children.

He shakes his head. The stool is fun, back, forth, back, forth, but it causes him to stoop some, hand held more firmly as his head bends to brush and meet her flyaways. "They don't have cell service. Mother may have spoke to them, but she's a woman of quiet comings." Sadie snorts.

Today, the test is a biophysical, whatever that means. Sadie explains it to him softly, gaze transfixed on the screen. The LED shines across her face, melting with the pregnancy glow. The fingers not in his, which have grown sweaty, drums on the topmost dome of her belly, even as the wand probes her hard. All of their words gloss over him; he holds her hand a little tighter, having forgotten the feel of feminine fingers in his hand.

Sadie tugs on his hand a few times. Childish glee—no, the excitement of motherhood. Horus has been around mothers all his lives. The babe is further along than the pictures led him to believe. It looks human, and it has Sadie's forehead. Sadie speaks softly to it, crooning. He misses her wit as he watches a new baby Kane being born before him.

(the mortal king will never have that glee; the god king robbed him of it.)

Ada's brow furrows. He glances at her. He cannot read the screen, but the idea is the same. The nurse is unsatisfied. "Wait right here, Sadie," she says. She hands the girl a rag to wipe the goo off of her stomach. Ada clacks at the machine, then disappears, stiff blue clothing gone from sight.

"Something's wrong," Sadie Kane immediately rationalizes. She has always been more calm than her brother. Never has he seen nor heard of her thrown in the midst of panic. She, like him, was more volatile, but with words and _Ha-di_ over swords and drink. But he knows the signs of Kane panic, as her blue eyes squint at the screen in her attempts to discern anything amongst the static. Words litter the side, and her gaze is there.

Horus holds her hand a little tighter. "I'm sure everything is fine, Sadie."

Everything is, in fact, not fine. Ada returns with one of those complacent smiles. The next few hours is a blur, as Sadie gets settled into the hospital. He doesn't listen, and she know he doesn't. He spends the better part of his time scratching at Carter, giving what he can: _Something's wrong with your sister._

Silence.

He blinks back to himself. Sadie's face is amused, sitting in a new bed. "I'm having the baby tonight," she says. "Do you care for the details?"

"Why?" he asks. He should get Mother, at least. She may despise modern hospitals, but Sadie is her daughter, as much as Anubis is. There are dangers, there are demons, there are gods better suited for this position than him. Kings are not always enough.

She's already flicked the television on, drawing hieroglyphs on her stomach that dissipate into the air. "He's stopped growing. They're bringing him out so he can...catch up out here. Perfectly normal, perfectly fine." Machines beep with dotted lights, lines run into the Little Kane's skin. "There's not going to be anything weird, is there?"

"Outside of the normal weird of childbirth?" Horus kisses her cheek. The mattress is softer than he thought it would be. "Demons, possibly, but this is a woman's world. I'm going to get someone more qualified. Is that alright? Then I'll track down our idiot husbands."

Sadie contemplates his words with visible scrutiny. "Please come back. You can find the idiots here."

"It's rare both of you beg for me in the same day." She slaps him for that. He deserves it. "Wouldn't you rather have your husbands? I know I would."

"I'd rather not do this alone," she says. "Will you really deny me that?"

Horus smiles. "It is not my business of denying Kanes." He carries on his plying affection, comfortably close to the youngest Kane. "Let me grab Mother. She's a jack of all trades for this area."

This weird kind of intimacy with Little Kane happens on occasion. They had their decade of playful flirting. "Be quick. Don't miss your nephew." The Kane-Ennead family is a weird mixture. God and mortal should not interact so freely, but it's all overlooked. Carter is his host, and Sadie is technically with the mutt's host, not him.

Horus goes, and Mother promises to be there within an hour. She has to gather herself, and bang obnoxiously at Ruby's mind/scribe. The Kane parents are slated to arrive back Sunday night, a few days before Sadie's actual due date. He checks in first with the Baby Kane, then settles in the waiting room. He has his own Kane to get in contact with.

 _Princeling_ , Horus says. _Your sister's baby is coming._ Where did the boy head? He should really keep better track of this. He calls his phone. One dead call, two dead calls. He doesn't have the other mortal's number. _Princeling,_ he says again. He wants to give Sadie her personal time, wandering his way to the cafeteria. Eating is like sleep: not needed, but a way to past the time. The food isn't bad, pasta with sauce. English needs to come better.

 **From: Sadie K..**

 _ **it's showtime #### (4:34)**_

 _ **your mother is AWOL (4:34)**_

 _ **you've been gone for 2 hour, btw (4:34)**_

His thigh buzzes with each text. Sadie textes fast and frequently. None from his Kane. Horus tries his luck with texting.

 **To: C**

 _ **Your sister is having her baby, little prince you should show up**_

Horus heads back to Sadie's room. He needs buzzed into the ward—children are something worth protecting—and has to sign in. A white sticker with the time (4:37PM) and his name (Horus Kane) gets stuck to his breast. "Baby Kane," Horus starts, creaking the door open to her room. "We're on our own."

Her lilac streak of hair has shriveled with sweat. "I'm killing all of them. Get over here."

"Mother isn't good with mortal time," he attempts to placate. "If I were not attached to the sun, I doubt I would have picked up on it by now." The chair up here is much nicer, practically a recliner. He wheels it beside her, hand back in hers. "How're you feeling?" This he remembers. Conception and labor. He remembers Hathor like this, though not quite the same position.

Sadie cackles. "I'm about to call the nurse to really get this going. I don't ever want to do this again." Her face contorts in pain, squeezing his hand like a vice. "Hell, I might kill Walt anyway."

He tuts, pushing her hair free from her face. Her skin is feverish, and he hopes his cool hand provides the poor thing some relief. "We're pigs, aren't we? My wife told me the same thing." Speaking to Sadie about Hathor is easy.

She leans into his hand; perhaps it provides refuge. "You've done this before, you bastard."

"I've been present for a few," he admits.

Ada returns with a doctor in tow. Seeing a man for this is odd, but times change. It's for the best Mother isn't present. "I don't believe we've met," and the doctor goes through the hassle of introducing himself. "I'm her brother-in-law," Horus relents after a brief handshake.

"Alright," the doctor says, washing his hands, "let's deliver this baby."

It doesn't take long. Sadie rolls on her side, as whiny Kanes do, hand grasped painfully in his. He soothes her as he can, speaking to her softly in Kemetic; she replies whenever her snark rears. He's with her while she gives birth. Not her brother, her mother, father, his mother, her husbands. Him.

The cry comes, and it comes strong. Sadie presses her face into the sheets, a rough, "Clean him first." He kisses her forehead, sparing a glance to the child. His father's complexion, Sadie's caramel hair in a light dusting upon his skull, shriveled and screaming. Small, as magical babies are.

Dominic Parennefer Kane is born.  
v.

Sadie's husbands head home to prepare the baby room. Mother apologizes profusely for being late, but leaves again to get the Kane parents. It's well into morning when everything settles. He and Carter opt to stay with Sadie. They're transferred to another room as the sun rises. Carter reeks of desert, death, and demons, but the joy that lights in his hazel eyes make his heart soar.

The baby is wheeled to the nursery when Sadie goes to take her shower. Horus knows they're alone—with Sadie and baby gone, no one of interest is in the room—so he convinces the prince to sit on his lap, in the weird recliner that someone is doomed to sleep in.

"Have you held him?" Carter asks.

"No. I've no interest in it." Horus tilts Carter's chin up, holding him there with his gaze. "You're in trouble."

Carter huffs. "I know. I didn't answer you, neither mentally or with my phone. That's my one rule. Failure to follow and I'm grounded," he perfectly recites. Kissing his cheek, "Is he cute?"

Horus blinks. That was quick. "When you don't answer, I assume the worse. And he's alright. You're the cutest Kane to date."

Shifting softly on his lap, the damnable television already on, Carter kisses his other cheek now. "You would know if I died. We're connected. You should get a move on with making me immortal, to alleviate one of your fears. But guess what? We're uncles now. I gave Walt our house key, to get the presents for Dominic. He's giving it back." Horus barely gave a key to the Little Kane.

The princeling sighs, resting his head on his shoulder. He's tired. He has to be. "I know _you_ don't really care, but I've never been one. My sister had a baby," Carter says. Horus does have a niece and sister in law, but like all good women, they're missing. If they'll ever return, or awaken, is debatable.

He brushes his hand over his hip, holding him a little snugly. "You need to be careful. If you died before I could immortalize you, I don't know what I'd do with myself. Something horrible, definitely. I never want to see you as a spirit."

"You're hung up on this, aren't you?" Kissed again to silence him. Carter twists, straddling his lap. The chair needs a bit more room to make this work, but it's alright. Carter is slim. Carter is built for his lap. Carter is meant for him. "I'm okay, I'll stay alive. Don't worry, birdie. You're not getting rid of me that easily," he promises, pressing their mouths together.

That's good too. He can forget everything for a second, or how ever long Carter feels like holding his breath. It's been a while, anyway, since they kissed prolonged. He and Carer haven't had proper alone time for a surprising break.

Horus misses him. What a surprise. He'll bring him home for a week.

The kiss ends, Carter nuzzling his shoulder. "I'll answer you next time, best I can. That's all I can promise, birdie. But I have a nephew. Can we focus on that for now?"

(the mortal king knows him so well. his voice is soft, complacent, yet promising. the god king can only nod mutely, overpowered by the mortal's words and looks.)

With a nod, Horus agrees. Carter takes a brief nap on his shoulder; Horus draws patterns on his back. His Kane.

Sadie eventually returns, Dominic in tow. The nurse takes in the sights, but make no comments. Sadie has to recite the babe's date of birth before the nurse leaves. Her lilac streak is back to its original brilliance. "Really?" she says. "Get him up. He's been going on for months about the baby." She does throw something at the boy, her hairbrush it seems, smacking him in the back of the head.

The boy stirs. "Give me a minute." Horus deposits him on the bed with little grace. Carter whines, kicking him. He must wake up enough, realizing where they are. He sits up quickly, looking around. "You had a baby," he remembers. She shakes her head, picking up the baby with a tenderness he doesn't expect from her.

She kicks him out of the chair. All three Kane men (oh, that feels weird) are on the bed now. Sadie passes the baby to Carter, a smooth exchange that ends with Carter's sparkling hazel lighting up like the dawn sky. Sadie, as she sits and takes the liberty of wrapping Horus' jacket around herself, has an equally brilliant smile.

Mother is right. It's annoying. Dominic Parennefer Kane looks at home in Carter's arms, cheek full as the moon, tilting into the mortal's finger. He has it down: head support, around the body, supporting the butt. He cooes, he smiles, even as the babe lays there with its eyes scrunched shut. He crosses his legs to rest his arms on, leaning against the god for support. "Look at you," he says softly.

Carter looks good with a baby. Carter looks magnificent with a baby.

Horus feels his heart start to stir.

vi.

The baby's first birthday comes with note. He's grown well, he's grown slow, but magic will do that. Ma'at will do that. The baby is powerful from the first month he learned to babble.

Hosted at Brooklyn House for the extended family, Horus finds himself in reluctance attendance. "Not only does he not like me-"

"-he's a baby-"

"-we see him every other week. Must I really?" Horus stressed. Carter stood on his tiptoes, kissed the shell of his ear, and promised a few things that made him cave.

Brooklyn House rings with the laughter of children, both the younger initiates and the children of Carter's contemporaries. Horus stays on the roof with Freak, legs crossed and staring up at the sun. A few people wander up (or are tossed up by Philip's playful tail), but they leave at the sight of god and beast. He's not here to socialize, only to please Carter. He'll go down in a few hours to eat, then head back to feed Freak. Time will go like that.

The baby is...growing on him. Tall and pudgy, tottering around their apartment into Carter's excited arms, it certainly opens his mind up to it.

Horus nudges Freak with his foot. "Should we?" he asks.

 _Freeee!_ he says eloquently. Freak is certainly not the smartest griffin he's talked with.

"Fair point." Back to...China next week. Magicians there are in small numbers, but Carter has his duties. "We are busy people."

 _Freeeaa._

Horus inches closer, running his hand through the griffin's feathers. "But he's cute with them, he's good with them, and he wants one," he rationalizes. "We have the finances and the support." Freak gives his characteristic response, rolling on his back. He crushes the god's foot beneath his mass, but it's all fine.

Every time he sees Carter with the baby in his arms, his heart starts. His blood flows like it should. Hell, there's been a few instances that after the baby leaves, he bends Carter into his hands and takes him, borderline frenzied by the sight of Carter with child.

It's a good image. It speaks to him, king and father.

Resting his head on Freak's stomach, second hand now involved in scratching his fur, Horus sighs. "I'm giving him one. This year has been rough for all the wrong reasons."

(mortal king asleep on the couch, seven month old babe sandwiched between him and a pillow, away from the edge; he volunteered dual kings to babysit to give the vizier and the mortal king's lieutenant a night off. the couch would make him a brat, so god king gently scooped both of them up. tired eyes cradling the baby, adoringly looking at him, far too much for a fragile heart.)

 _FREEEEEEAAAAAAAK!_

Horus laughs loudly. "We'll bring her to see you. Thank you for your help, old boy." Freak was no help, nothing more than a wall to talk to, but Horus gifts him a frozen turkey regardless, wiping his hands off on his fur. The creature may be able to eat it, wrapper and all, but he wouldn't let him.

Taking the civilized manner of going down (Carter scolds him for jumping onto the breakfast balcony), he treks the two flights of stairs to the main level. Thoth's statue looms over the guests, but a party hat hangs off of his beak, ribbon streaming over his arms.

Just like Ra and basketball.

He finds Sadie first by the yelling baby. He eases his way through the crowd. "Where's Carter?"

"Kitchen," she supplies. "Tell birdbrain hi, Dom," she says to the baby, comfortably seated in his high chair, icing smeared on his cheek. Quite Freak-like, the baby squeals _Birrrrr_! until his mother dissolves in laughter.

He smiles at the baby, then leaves. Some magicians he recognizes, most he doesn't. A few nod at him politely, but he disregards them. Horus steps into the much quieter kitchen. Some mill around with drinks, but his prized possession is tucked away in the pantry.

Good. He can be open with Carter in private.

Grabbing a cup, he passes by them all, stepping into the pantry. Carter Kane is in his natural position of on his tiptoes, sorting through boxes of cereal. Brooklyn House is a mess. Softly shutting the door behind him to not tip the mortal off, he closes the distances, wrapping his arms around Carter. "You said it cost about a house?" he asks, chin hooked on his shoulder.

Carter stiffens. "Come again?"

"The surrogacy. About a cheap house, right?"

"Don't get my hopes up," Carter says tautly. Horus brushes his lips across his cheek.

He drags the boy down to be flat footed, cup pressed against his stomach. "We'll look at surrogates, and in the high chance I find a woman I like, we'll go through with it, alright?" A woman who would carry a child for nine months, then agree to a closed adoption. It's difficult for Horus to envision that easily, but money is money.

"Really?" he says, shocked. "Like that? You're mind has changed like-" a snap of his fingers.

Horus hums. "Seeing you with Sadie's boy has opened my eyes," he admits. "We're having a baby," he says, he sighs, to remind of the situation. "You still want one, don't you?"

He nods. "Yes, yes, of course. Horus-" he's a strong little thing, turning around in his embrace. His cup finds a home on the slight curve of his back, and he gets another one of those damn, stomach twisting kisses. Horus hikes the boy back up, crowding him against the shelving.

Carter fumbles to hold his hand like the spoiled, lovable brat he is. He squeezes their fingers together. The boy is great. The boy is going to be a father. Carter will have an heir, Carter can retire comfortably without the dog's seed influencing it.

Horus kisses him again; a box falls from where Carter bumps into it. He's made happy, visibly so, just by this. With another minute, Carter finally breaks away. His face is hot, flushed, but his eyes are like that night in the hospital, brimming pools of hope. "I _love_ you, my gods-"

Massaging his back, he starts a trail of kisses on his temple. "I love you too, little prince. We have to be somewhat quick about it. I don't want to hold off on your immortality anymore."

"That's fine by me. Our apartment nearby is three bed, so that saves some hassle, huh? And you have that paid off for years," Carter says. He squirms fondly. "You and me. A baby."

God and mortal. God and immortal. Horus ends up in the boy's hair. Hopefully, the baby takes after him more than the mother. Curls, hazel eyes, playful sarcasm, the spoiled tone Horus' children all possess. Horus' child. "Don't you always get what you want?"


End file.
